


Let Go

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Goodbye? Oh no, please. Can’t we go back to page one and do it all over agin?—Winnie the Pooh
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a vent fic that didn’t end up as cathartic as I had hoped, but here we are. Enjoy!!

Alexander frantically dials a number that he knows all too well, pressing his phone to his ear as he paces the small space in front of his apartment door, gnawing at his lip. His cheeks are still flushed from running home from work in his rush to get away. He hadn’t bothered to call a cab. 

“John… John! Pick up pick up pick up. Come on,” he mumbles, heart skipping beats and his eyes watering slightly. After about a minute, his call gets through. He doesn’t feel any better. If anything, he feels worse as if he were about to throw up.

“Alex?” comes a sleepy voice. “What? I was sleeping, you know.” John punctuates his sentence with a yawn, that sounds forced by Alexander doesn’t question it, rolling his eyes instead.

“Get over here. Now. Please. John, I… please. Come.” He hates how he can hear the desperation in his words, clenching his phone far too tight in his sweating palm. “Please John. Please. I’ll do anything. Just get your ass over here.” Alexander means to hang up then and there, but his finger slips and it only puts John on speaker. He groans, not caring that his best friend can hear him.

“Anything?” John purrs, sounding far too pleased with himself, but Alexander doesn’t care and he repeats himself.

“Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything, I promise. I just--”

“So if I wanted to go to some fancy dinner and ordered the most expensive dishes there, you, Alexander Hamilton, would pay for it?” 

Alexander hisses. “Fine, fine. Whatever you want John.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

John hangs up, leaving Alexander to his thoughts and the silence that feels more akin to loneliness rather than genuine quiet.

—

John comes forty-five minutes after he hangs up, despite his word to be there thirty-five minutes earlier. In that time, Alexander had proceeded to walk into the kitchenette, bite his nails, until there was nothing left for him to bite--fingertips now red and raw. From there, he had moved on to his lip--which had bled, though if it was because of the chaptness or the actual biting, Alexander wasn’t quite sure.

When he hears a knock at the door, he runs to get it like a feral dog would to a post officer. He pulls the door open, door handle flinging towards the wall, only to be saved by the stopper at the bottom corner. 

John stands there, looking rather nonplussed in a pair of grey sweats and a dark blue hoodie, carrying two cups of coffee. He opens his mouth to say something but Alexander pulls him inside by his wrists before he can say anything. 

“--Alex! What… What’s wrong?” He exclaims, allowing himself to be pulled into the kitchenette, and pushed into a chair. “Oh… and,” he holds out one of the coffee cups, “this is for you.” 

Alexander snatches the cup before sitting on the counter in front of John. His eyes water, stinging with the misery behind them. He hears a  _ swish _ of fabric and feels the warmth of John’s hand rest on his thigh. He sighs, a pitiful sound that he doesn’t even recognize. His thoughts are loud, too loud. A constant buzz of noise, far too chaotic in his already addled mind. 

“I--” he chokes out, voice cracking. “Am I…  _ Am I a bad person?” _ Alexander asks. He winces at the sound of his own voice, weak and desperate and sad and everything he does not wish to be. A tear falls down his cheek. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away. His chest constricts painfully, squeezing his lungs and his heart too tightly. 

John, clearly unsure of what to do, tilts his head and looks at Alexander’s face. He has to be looking for something; a smile, a creased brow. Perhaps even a glint in his eyes, John knows and can read him so well. “Alex?” he says, voice soft as if he were talking to a frightened puppy--a tone he had long since perfected from working at the veterinary clinic a block away from his apartment. “Why would you think that?”

Another tear falls down his cheek. “I just… Just answer the question!” Alexander screeches. He doesn’t know why he is shouting.  _ Shut up. Stop yelling. You’re being rude. Just stop. _

John stands, looming over him slightly and faces him. He can see a frown creasing John’s face, and dread bubbles in the pit of his stomach. He feels John’s hand leave his thigh and move to his shoulder, the weight resting there before squeezing gently; a comforting action that does nothing to console him. Alexander tilts his head up, willing the wetness pricking in his eyes to go away. He brings his hands up to his face, trying to get rid of the few drops of wetness there.  _ I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to cry. I don’t deserve to cry. I don’t want to cry. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry…  _

“Oh Alexander… you’re not a bad person. Who told you in the world  _ that _ ? That’s an outright lie.” John, the voice of reason. John, a rock for him to stand on in an unsteady, ever-changing world. John, a shoulder for him to cry on; his best friend. Alexander sniffles.

“No one,” he says. Despite the words being the truth, they sound false. A lie that even he doesn’t believe. 

“Alex.” 

He hiccups. “No one. Not really, anyway.” 

“Who? Don’t lie to me,” John pleads, clenching his hand a little tighter. He wants an answer and rightly so. For just because Alexander didn’t owe him an explanation, nor an answer, John was fiercely loyal and he wouldn’t stand for people he loved being hurt. 

“ _ Thomas _ ,” Alexander chokes out, an ugly, wet sound leaving him in his confusion and despair. His chests tightens and he curls into himself. It hurts. The acknowledgement sends a wave of pain throughout him. His heart beats savagely in his chest, a vicious animal trapped in a cage.

“Jefferson? Thomas Jefferson?” John asks incredulously. “I’ll kick his ass for that!” He sobers for a second. “But really... Why does it bother you so much? You never cared about what he had to say before.”

Alexander can barely hear anything though the fog that robs him of his senses and sensibilities and he laughs humorlessly. “You can’t!”

John’s brow furrows. “I can’t what? Beat the hell out of him? I’ve always wanted to, you  _ know _ that! Plus, it would be the perfect opportunity to--” He cuts himself off when he sees Alexander shaking his head.  _ No.  _

“You can’t.  _ He’s already fucked off to France!” _ Alexander yells, chest heaving. The words process again and he squeezes the coffee cup slightly in his hands. It bends slightly, a liquid bubbling out of the spout, but he takes no mind to it. John tilts his head in confusion, eyebrows slightly closer to each other. 

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that?”

“ _ No! _ ” He shouts, shaking slightly as he is transported to a similar moment, earlier that morning. 

—

_ Alexander stumbles into the White House little later than he normally would. He’d blame it on the traffic, but even he knows that that isn’t true. That he would have gotten out of the cab and walked if it meant he got there faster. Time was money and money was time and all. _

_ In truth, and in reality, he had overslept, spending too much time thinking about how he had messed up with Thomas while also trying to redraft a bill, before falling asleep two hours too late. When Alexander had been able to rouse himself from sleep, it was seven thirty-seven. In a rush of chaotic energy, he had been able to gather himself and get out the door in twenty minutes. Despite the wrinkled state of his shirt, and dress pants, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Grabbing his laptop case, he rushes out the door, locking the door behind him.  _

_ He runs to the curb, hailing the first taxi he can find. It doesn’t take him long, and he hauls his limbs into the car. It takes him about a block away, but when Alexander gets to that one busy sidestreet, it's eight-fifteen, an hour and fifteen minutes past the average time he walks in. He shoves a few dollar bills into the driver’s hand before stringing his security badge around his neck and launching himself out of his seat and out the door.  _

_ He speeds to the White House, badge fluttering around his neck as he strides through security, and almost running down the hallways that lead to his office. He throws his laptop case onto his desk, cringing when he hears the loud  _ thwack _ of the case against the wood of his desk. He pulls out a chair and sits only to stand back up when his intern Oliver Wolcott, knocks on the open door.  _

_ “Secretary Hamilton,” he says, lips pressed together, trying to hide a smile that is obvious in the bright glint of his eyes. His hands fidget with the file in his hands and Alexander walks up to him to retrieve them.  _

_ “Alexander, please,” he chides, fingers sliding into the file. “Thank you,” he says over his shoulder, turning to go back to his work--which he hasn’t even had the chance to start.  _

_ “Have you heard?” The words bubble out of Oliver’s mouth, as if he cannot contain them any longer. Alexander turns back around. _

_ “Heard what?” A smile plays at the end of his lips because  _ Oliver wouldn’t be this excited over nothing, right? _ Alexander tilts his head. In his best, professional voice, he asks, “What is it?” _

_ “Jefferson!” Oliver exclaims before ducking his head and noticeably swallowing. “He’s gone.” _

_ Alexander feels his throat dry. “He’s what?” _

_ “Gone! Gone to France! As an ambassador,” The smile that has been threatening to break out on Oliver’s face finally does.  _

_ “France?” He clears his throat, trying rid himself of the sinking feeling on the inside, the prickling of his eyes  _

_ “Yeah!”  _

_ “Oh.” He quirks his brow and bites at the dry skin of his chapped lips.  _

_ “Aren’t you happy?” Oliver’s smile fades a bit when he sees Alexander’s lack of enthusiasm, as if the only reason he were happy was because he thought Alexander would be too. _

_ “I suppose I am.” He’s not. He doesn’t feel happy or sad or anything. He feels numb. Numb and  _ abandoned _. Swallowing hard, he throws the files onto his desk, and walks out of his office, pushing past Oliver. “Excuse me…” _

_ Once he’s out of the building, he runs. Runs like he hasn’t since he was a child. But there’s no joy in it. There is not a carefree smile on his face like the ones he wore as he ran on the sandy beaches of Nevis, so long ago it feels like it has been more than a lifetime. No. _

_ Instead, he bites his lip, the tears in his eyes streaming into his hair. The world blurs and he hardly realizes the passing cars and people around him. Hardly feels the burn of his lungs and the ache of his legs. He can’t hear the D.C. traffic, nor his own heart beat in his ears. He only feels something inside him break. Shattering into pieces as he ignores everything else.  _

_ Finally, he reaches his apartment, jams the key into the lock, and bursts into the entrance before slamming the door closed and letting out a wail. A sound that shocks him passes his lips: a warbly, but animalistic shriek. _

_ In a moment of clarity, Alexander wipes his eyes and thinks to call John. And a part of him wants to deny everything. But if the events of the night before and the ones happening right in front of his eyes are not, in fact, a dream, he would really rather talk to someone instead of drive himself insane by dwelling in the torrent of his thoughts.  _

—

Alexander shakes his head, as if to clear the onslaught of blurred events in his mind. John looks pained. Alexander can’t understand why. 

“Alex, I don’t know what to say,” John mumbles, faintly shaking his head side-to-side.  _ Then don’t say anything at all! _ Alexander’s thoughts scream, but he only sits there, staring into space, a forlorn shadow in his eyes. He shrugs, barely able to move his shoulders as whatever energy he had melt out from him. With the last of his energy, he places the cup down before it slips from his grip and makes a mess. He didn’t really want the coffee anyway.

“I really thought you hated him.”

“I thought I did too.” Alexander whispers, almost inaudible to himself. He’s surprised when John nods slightly in acknowledgement, as though he heard him. 

“What changed?”

“A lot.”

A huff of laughter escapes John, a smile apparent in his voice when he talks. “Clearly.” He pauses before adding, “Tell me?” 

It's a statement, posed as a question, giving Alexander a way out of answering. But of course he will. It’s John and he’ll talk. He always talks.  _ Fuck. No one likes it when you talk. You’re so draining. Why do you even bother to talk? Do you really think anyone will listen to you? _

“I… okay.” He sucks in a shuddering breath, trying to clear and gather his thoughts before exhaling weakly. “Well. From the top then?”

John hums in agreement. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter, uncurling slightly from the ball of limbs he had formed when talking. 

“Well, I guess it started when I texted him about… two, three months ago I think? It wasn’t on purpose.” He chokes on his words and forces himself to swallow the clump of words that threaten to slip into existence in an incoherent jumble of word vomit. He sucks in a breath, ignoring the sweat on his palms. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did and I just… we started talking--he was bored, I did it on accident and I was bored. It all worked out. And then I guess… I guess we became friends of a sort. We weren’t just civil because we had to be or because Washington forced us to be. It was…. Our choice. And it was nice. I don’t really know.”

The world blurs and he feels a pang in his chest. He ignores it.  _ How did he even put up with me? I’m so fucking annoying. A useless piece of shit.. A terrible, shitty person.  _

“We were always talking. It was never about anything in particular. A bill, food, a song, a football team. And things…. We were really close. I don’t know how it got the way it did but I really loved talking to him. I looked--” Alexander cuts himself off, gagging on the word. John squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, beckoning him to continue. “I looked forward to talking to him. I don’t know why… We always talked, and it was fun and I shouldn’t have liked it but I did and I don’t--”

Alexander sucks in a breath, and John brings him into his chest in a hug. “Alexander?” he whispers softly into his ear. “Did you… love him?” 

While his words are spoken with trepidation, Alexander’s are not. 

“ _ Yes _ .” He can hear his words and once he processes them, an ugly, animalistic sound escapes him. He presses his face into John’s neck and sobs. “Oh fuck… I loved him. I didn’t even… ” 

John wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer, and raking a hand through Alexander’s hair. “Shhhh, it’s alright. It’s alright.” He stops his attempts to comfort when Alexander lets out a despairing cry.

“No it's not! It’s not okay.”

John says nothing in return, letting Alexander cry into his shoulder, a silent comfort. He still doesn’t understand Alexander’s duress. He doesn’t want to stir the pot anymore than he already has, but maybe, just maybe, if Alexander opens up, he’d be able to help. Alexander eventually calms down and speaks on his own accord.

“I guess… No, what I’m trying to say is that I... loved him and I loved talking to him. But he never felt the same? He told me, yesterday, that talking to me was exhausting. And I just never said anything in return because it was either fuck up and say something, or fuck up  _ less _ and say nothing. So I just didn’t say anything. Not because I didn’t want to but because… I just couldn’t. I dunno,” Alexander shrugs weakly; hopeless. He feels numb. Alexander sighs and holds tighter to John.

“I sent him something small later, an apology that he never saw because now… well he’s blocked me on all of his media accounts--I checked before you got here. Not my number or email I don’t think, but I don’t think he would because of business between France and America. I don’t think I’m going to even bother trying those though… It would be kinda pointless. And I don’t want to bother him like I probably have the entire time we talked.” His tone resentful, bitter. But it’s not because of the events that aspired, or the way they happened, more so because of the ending. 

No, rather he regrets being an annoyance. He hates it, really. He hates himself too. He knows about his talent for annoying people, and when it comes to people his dislikes, he doesn’t mind the fact. However, when it comes to people he cares about, he hates himself. It’s a character trait and he doesn’t think he would be able to change such a defining part of himself, but it makes him hyper aware of his shortcomings. 

On bad days, even he finds himself annoying, but it doesn’t ever stop him from doing his job. Hell, it  _ is _ his job. And his job blends into his personal life more often than not, bringing out his less likeable traits. Of course, Thomas-- _ Jeferson,  _ was a part of both. Alexander had thought that perhaps he would be more willing to accept him--all of him--more easily as he had seen all parts of him. Unfortunately, he thought wrong.  _ God, I’m such an idiot. An idiot, far too talkative for my own good. No wonder he left me. Why hasn’t John? I’m such a bad person… I don’t--Why hasn’t he left?! _

John squeezes him, providing a comfort that doesn’t really feel like comfort in the moment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alexander says, voice muffled by the fabric of John’s hoodie. A humorless laugh bubbles out of him. “You didn’t do anything. Not like I did. I drove him away and it’s my fault that he’s in France now.”  _ Yes it is my fault. I made him leave. It’s all my fault. And I can’t even apologize to him in person because he’s gone.  _

“Alex, listen to me,” John says pulling away, holding his shoulders at arm’s length. Their eyes met and Alexander hastily looks away. “You didn’t do anything. Jefferson left on his own accord. Not because of you, okay? Don’t blame yourself for actions that are not your own.”

“But I do, John, I do. It hasn’t even been a day yet and he’s gone. He basically told me that I was a bad person last night! And then he said that he needed a break from me and I assumed that he meant for the day. Or maybe the rest of the week… but no. He went and left to go to France and I never even said goodbye. I never said  _ anything _ !” His chest heaves as he adds, “And I never will get to.” 

_ I should have said something… I’m so stupid. I should have said that I was sorry sooner. Should never have started talking to him. Or stopped things sooner. Damnit, I’ve been so fucking stupid. What the hell was I doing? He never cared…  _

The thought stings unpleasantly, pricking his skin. It hurts but he dismisses the feeling. John levels him with a look, eyes kind and soft. 

“You shouldn’t. Please….” He trails off, trying to find the words. “Please don’t blame yourself. I may not understand what has happened between you and him. I do not understand what you feel for him and why you feel that way. But you cannot blame yourself, Alexander. You can’t. You couldn’t have stopped him from leaving anymore than the sun from rising. He left, he’s gone and you can’t blame yourself for it. He chose to. And something you’ve always complained about is your inability to change him--you couldn’t have forced him to do anything he didn’t want to. Just like he couldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to.” John pauses, quirking his head slightly, a slight smile playing upon his lips. 

“Actually, I think I can see why you’ve grown so attached to him. You’re so similar. It’s funny, really. But at the same time, you two are polar opposites…. I dunno. I guess… it makes sense that you two were attracted to each other.” He shrugs. “I could be wrong but…. I don’t really think I am.” 

Alexander sniffles, a twisted smile that looks more like a grimace than a smile plasters itself on his face. “I don’t think so either. I wish it didn't…. No, I don’t wish it didn’t happen. I just wish I could’ve changed the way it ended. I would have liked to have said goodbye.”

John hums. “I understand…. Just… don’t beat yourself up about it too much.”

Alexander nods but ducks his head, knowing fully well that he’s already spent too much time condemning himself for being an awful, loathsome creature, who doesn’t deserve to be loved or supported or even exist. He buries his face in John’s shoulder, tears soaking the fabric a darker blue.

“I don’t want to let go… I don’t know how to, or if I even could. I don’t want to, John. But he already did for me. Maybe he never was holding onto me like I was to him. And I know I should let go of him--we were never truly anything. Friends on the odd chance, but  _ nothing _ really that matters. I just… I don’t know how. Tell me how, John! Tell me  _ please _ ,” Alexander begs, tears springing to his eyes. The absurd part of him wants to laugh. Wants to laugh at cliche of his words, at his desperation, but he can’t. Instead, a sob bursts out of him, a warbly and pained sound. 

Arms clutch around him tighter, squeezing almost painfully. “I can’t, my dear. I can’t.” John’s voice breaks, as if Alexander’s sadness were his own. They cling to each other, and Alexander shatters, slowly but surely, in his friend’s arms. “I’m so sorry.” 

_ I am too. I’m sorry Thomas. I’m so so so sorry. I’m sorry for bothering you in the first place. I shouldn’t have. And I took advantage of you. Of your kindness--I always knew you weren’t heartless. But then I hurt you… I don’t even know how. By being myself? Maybe… I’m so sorry. I should be quieter. Less talkative. Less insane…. I should’ve been better. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry.  _

“Thanks for coming,” he mumbles, voice wrecked. 

“Of course, Alexander. Always.” 

Alexander sobs. “I don’t deserve you. I’m so sorry I’m an awful person.” 

“Shhhh it’s okay, dear. You’re not. You’re a brilliant person and, well you know this, but there are so many people who love you for you. I love you. Don’t beat yourself up for what happened…. It’s going to be okay. Breathe, please. Things will be okay, okay?”

Alexander doesn’t acknowledge the statement, clinging tighter to John and crying harder.  _ I have to let go. I have to let go. I don’t want to. But I need to… I only hurt people that I love.  _

He doesn’t let go. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave comments or kudos if you liked it :)  
> [Tumblr](https://bladesnflannel.tumblr.com)  
> -J  
>  ~~(Ps: if you’re interested in Thomas’ role, its partially explained in the comments)~~


End file.
